Saturday, 26 August 2017
Life advice:
When trying to be a sexy hippy girl by not wearing any knickers under your dress, don't try to buy a bicycle.
Saturday, 19 August 2017
Friday, 18 August 2017
Wednesday, 16 August 2017
All this documentaries about Partition in India.
All this documentaries about Partition in India.
All this is making me terribly longing. I see the old man comforting the woman about the horrors that were done to her familly and his and many others. Giving her his blessing. Reminding her that it is all in God's will. I miss this. Remembering that is it all in Nature's plan is easy when you're happy, knowing it about the sufference too is something else alltogether.
India to me has become the kindom of spirituality. Not because it is more present there, I believe people bring their own spirituality into their life anywhere in the world. But India is where I have learnt it.
My childhood was lined with the Buddhism of Nichiren Dai Shonin by my parents' daily practice, you would have thought this would have seeped into me more than it do. What seeped into me was their disdain for Christianity, the omnipresent religion in europe at the moment. I grew up learning to look down upon the biggots and reactionnaries who became synonymous with spirituality. Religion and spirituality can join and enhance each other, but they can also be very much separate, to the great loss of religion I feel.
Maybe it is because the places I went in India --Auroville, and more recently Dharamshala, the refuge town of the Dalai Lama-- were open and trying to encourage people towards greater personal beliefs.
I have, being back in england, forgotten to work towards world peace consciously in my every action. And I feel how much I'm missing out.
I've come to realise how beautiful it is to have this shining thread to follow in your daily life, how beautiful it is for the image you project (through clothes, hair, makeup..) to be influenced by your spirituality. This reminds you that you are a child of Nature and so is everyone else, through their good days and their angry days. How beautiful it is to remember why you do practice certain rituals. Yes they can be supperficial and done out of habit, but the strive to better yourself for the benefit of humanity is holy and can be remembered through these actions.
It's our awareness of our will to better ourselves for others that is important.
All this is making me terribly longing. I see the old man comforting the woman about the horrors that were done to her familly and his and many others. Giving her his blessing. Reminding her that it is all in God's will. I miss this. Remembering that is it all in Nature's plan is easy when you're happy, knowing it about the sufference too is something else alltogether.
India to me has become the kindom of spirituality. Not because it is more present there, I believe people bring their own spirituality into their life anywhere in the world. But India is where I have learnt it.
My childhood was lined with the Buddhism of Nichiren Dai Shonin by my parents' daily practice, you would have thought this would have seeped into me more than it do. What seeped into me was their disdain for Christianity, the omnipresent religion in europe at the moment. I grew up learning to look down upon the biggots and reactionnaries who became synonymous with spirituality. Religion and spirituality can join and enhance each other, but they can also be very much separate, to the great loss of religion I feel.
Maybe it is because the places I went in India --Auroville, and more recently Dharamshala, the refuge town of the Dalai Lama-- were open and trying to encourage people towards greater personal beliefs.
I have, being back in england, forgotten to work towards world peace consciously in my every action. And I feel how much I'm missing out.
I've come to realise how beautiful it is to have this shining thread to follow in your daily life, how beautiful it is for the image you project (through clothes, hair, makeup..) to be influenced by your spirituality. This reminds you that you are a child of Nature and so is everyone else, through their good days and their angry days. How beautiful it is to remember why you do practice certain rituals. Yes they can be supperficial and done out of habit, but the strive to better yourself for the benefit of humanity is holy and can be remembered through these actions.
It's our awareness of our will to better ourselves for others that is important.
Tuesday, 15 August 2017
There is still a lot of stigma around sex.
I'm a rather open person sexually, in what I do, who I like, and what I talk about.
Never the less, I censure some of what I say or write, even talking to strangers on the internet, even on here now. Stigma is the reason I don't share this writing to all the people I would like to ; some of the censure is self-inflicted, but it always originates from forseen reactions of others.
Stigma is the reason I'm in cringy situations at the moment regarding my sexlife, which, funnily enough is my actual life as well. It's why I'm meeting people online, it's why I'm hooking up with guys from work and ending up, the next day, in a Tesco's car park, with moist car windows and a funny smell in my knickers the rest of the afternoon at work.
My desire-need-whatever for regular new encounters but my desire-need-whatever to keep them secret from my familly is what gets me into places that I'm not sure I'm at ease in. It's all exciting until he says "say NO to me once more you slut and I'll... !" and I remember how we didn't talk about safe words, how I had to remind him again, that of course he needs to wear a condom and how no one, NO ONE. knows where I am right now. That's when I realise that his hand grabbing my jaw and thrusting in my mouth could turn in an instant from a thrilling feeling of consented submission to something.. else. At that moment, all I can do is hope that he sees non-con fantasies as games to be played but that should never become reality. Non-con fantasies are a tight rope I often end up stumbling upon and realising too late I haven't got anything to hold onto and I'm trusting a stranger I met 38 hours before to remember that my stubborn little girl act is not only an act: when I say "I don't want to Daddy", I mean it. At that moment, I'm hoping that he seing me say no to him turns him on enough that it sends him over the edge, towards this end of this episode. And I like that thought, because it genuinely turns me on, but I'm bordeline here.
This is where it all gets muddled up. This is where what's happening in my head is as foggy as the windows from our hot bodies.
And fuck am I aware that it's a dangerous thing to be saying all this, to be putting it out there, readable by any one who passes this street of the internet. BUT THATS WHAT I HATE: I HATE that it's dangerous me doing this, it shouldn't be. No more than wearing a short skirt is asking for it. I am not asking for it. I'm asking for the liberty to meet safe people in safe place and do no-longer-dangerous things with them and then to be able to talk about it to the people around me without feeling any shame about it.
I'm also angry at myself for liking these kind of things. In the same way I've had gay friends who were once angry about their homosexuality, I'm angry about my fierce heterosexuality.
Every day I question wether it's nature or nurture. I wonder daily wether I brought these my fucked up fantasies of submission to guys onto myself in my teens by getting into the wrong chatrooms late at night and being intrigued by seeing the wrong images. Did I bring it onto myself or is it society as a whole that makes it so much easier and part of the course of things, for me as a ciswoman to want to be dominated by men ? And, if I found an answer, what would I change ? I would still not be able to change those parts of me.
I try, strongly, to overcome my straightness and my kinks. I actively search for partners who are into BDSM, but, try very hard to instigate a conscious, poly and balanced relationship between me and them.
I felt a needle prick of shame, last saturday to be leaving the gay pride to go fuck a guy. And is my anger legitimate, when aimed at one of those parisien-subburb-queer-gatherings, where I felt in the wrong and out of place to be in a commited relationship with a man when, internally, I do have questions about my gender and my attractions and feel I don't conform and do identify as queer when I'm on my own googling my anguish. Not being attracted to the opposite gender is not frowned upon within queer communities. But, me not being attracted to my gender, what does that say about me ? In the same way I know being less attracted to people of colour is constructed, and is something I have to actively work on.
By engaging in these cringy car park activities am I perpetuating the myth that all women are sluts deep down, that when we say no, we mean yes. Am I not making enough effort to deconstruct the building blocks society has made me with?
Never the less, I censure some of what I say or write, even talking to strangers on the internet, even on here now. Stigma is the reason I don't share this writing to all the people I would like to ; some of the censure is self-inflicted, but it always originates from forseen reactions of others.
Stigma is the reason I'm in cringy situations at the moment regarding my sexlife, which, funnily enough is my actual life as well. It's why I'm meeting people online, it's why I'm hooking up with guys from work and ending up, the next day, in a Tesco's car park, with moist car windows and a funny smell in my knickers the rest of the afternoon at work.
My desire-need-whatever for regular new encounters but my desire-need-whatever to keep them secret from my familly is what gets me into places that I'm not sure I'm at ease in. It's all exciting until he says "say NO to me once more you slut and I'll... !" and I remember how we didn't talk about safe words, how I had to remind him again, that of course he needs to wear a condom and how no one, NO ONE. knows where I am right now. That's when I realise that his hand grabbing my jaw and thrusting in my mouth could turn in an instant from a thrilling feeling of consented submission to something.. else. At that moment, all I can do is hope that he sees non-con fantasies as games to be played but that should never become reality. Non-con fantasies are a tight rope I often end up stumbling upon and realising too late I haven't got anything to hold onto and I'm trusting a stranger I met 38 hours before to remember that my stubborn little girl act is not only an act: when I say "I don't want to Daddy", I mean it. At that moment, I'm hoping that he seing me say no to him turns him on enough that it sends him over the edge, towards this end of this episode. And I like that thought, because it genuinely turns me on, but I'm bordeline here.
This is where it all gets muddled up. This is where what's happening in my head is as foggy as the windows from our hot bodies.
And fuck am I aware that it's a dangerous thing to be saying all this, to be putting it out there, readable by any one who passes this street of the internet. BUT THATS WHAT I HATE: I HATE that it's dangerous me doing this, it shouldn't be. No more than wearing a short skirt is asking for it. I am not asking for it. I'm asking for the liberty to meet safe people in safe place and do no-longer-dangerous things with them and then to be able to talk about it to the people around me without feeling any shame about it.
I'm also angry at myself for liking these kind of things. In the same way I've had gay friends who were once angry about their homosexuality, I'm angry about my fierce heterosexuality.
Every day I question wether it's nature or nurture. I wonder daily wether I brought these my fucked up fantasies of submission to guys onto myself in my teens by getting into the wrong chatrooms late at night and being intrigued by seeing the wrong images. Did I bring it onto myself or is it society as a whole that makes it so much easier and part of the course of things, for me as a ciswoman to want to be dominated by men ? And, if I found an answer, what would I change ? I would still not be able to change those parts of me.
I try, strongly, to overcome my straightness and my kinks. I actively search for partners who are into BDSM, but, try very hard to instigate a conscious, poly and balanced relationship between me and them.
I felt a needle prick of shame, last saturday to be leaving the gay pride to go fuck a guy. And is my anger legitimate, when aimed at one of those parisien-subburb-queer-gatherings, where I felt in the wrong and out of place to be in a commited relationship with a man when, internally, I do have questions about my gender and my attractions and feel I don't conform and do identify as queer when I'm on my own googling my anguish. Not being attracted to the opposite gender is not frowned upon within queer communities. But, me not being attracted to my gender, what does that say about me ? In the same way I know being less attracted to people of colour is constructed, and is something I have to actively work on.
By engaging in these cringy car park activities am I perpetuating the myth that all women are sluts deep down, that when we say no, we mean yes. Am I not making enough effort to deconstruct the building blocks society has made me with?
Thursday, 10 August 2017
Wednesday, 2 August 2017
Monday not bad, tuesday's okay.
It's wednesday morning I find myself in bed in dread. I should be up washing my hair but I find myself in bed dripping with the coldness that comes from tiredness.
I should have a shower, I should wash my hair with more than dry shampoo. Not even the thought of putting nice clothes on is rousing me today, even tho it's as close as I'll get to being creative today.
The tiredness is double. Yes, I should have gone to bed a half hour earlier at least, but, when only a quarter of my allotted 24hours is spent actually doing things I want to do, it's hard to not want to push on a bit longer, a bit longer scrolling.
And the tiredness is double because it's the tiredness of boredom. We can rely on a surprisingly little amount of sleep, providing we're having fun. Providing my days are not spent sorting files in alphabetical order. It would be alright if I didn't have to recite the whole alphabet just to get to s.t.U.v.
I know now that the next two days will be suffured in this state.
It gets into you this rain. Like murky washing up watter, you've got orange rubber gloves on, but somehow, unsurprisingly, there must be a hole in them cuz today, all I feel is dread.
Tonight, yes a few hours have passed since th first letters of this piece. As I look for a quote by Kerouac about depression and washing up water that I CAN'T FIND, I remember that we are alike in some things he and I. We are alike in the intensity. And I realise, more importantly, that the abysmal low I feared would come after my Indian high is nigh. The reason I feel such elation is the reason I feel so delfated now. Because I feel everything so strongly. Maybe we all do.
I ask myself many times wether I would prefere a constant lowkey satisfaction or a great heights and deep lows at unpredictable times. The aspirational
Urgh this is shit. It's thoughts I've thought a thousand times, put into words while on the bus and taken out of words again while walking home. This is me writing because I want to not because I have anything to say. It started okay, started off raw and sleepy and lonely, ended up being some posing metacognitionny nonsense.
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